


should've said something about these

by the_parentheticals



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Adopted Sibling Relationship, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Barista Virgil, Blackmail, Bystander Syndrome, Family Bonding, Gen, Genderfluid Character, Insecurity, Insomnia, It's 2 a.m. and I'm cursing myself, Mentioned Roman Sanders - Freeform, Original Character(s), Society Discussions, Starbucks, Taylor Swift References, Unrequited Analogical FTW, but not anymore they're just painfully awkward and NOT FRIENDS, deceit is an anti hero, everyone is awkward, former childhood friends
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-26
Updated: 2019-06-04
Packaged: 2019-12-18 11:15:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18248732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_parentheticals/pseuds/the_parentheticals
Summary: A series of one-shots that take place in a universe where miracles almost exist.





	1. you were never a saint (and i loved in shades of wrong)

“Blair?” Toby asked, sitting upright in his bed. His sister turned on her heel, then clasped her hands together.

“Yes?” What did he want with her? Had she done something wrong?

“Can you tuck me in?” Well. She was not expecting that. She didn’t approve, anyway. (Yes, she was a buzzkill. Blair didn’t care. It was a small price to pay.)

“You’re ten.”

“I know, but can you do it anyway?”

Blair sighed. “Fine. I’ll get Ro–no.” She had to kick herself. Roman had been busy for months. “N–Mom.” She started toward the stairs.

“No, I want you to do it.” Blair blinked. No. She’d heard that wrong. Toby didn’t want her to do it. Too detached. Too calculated. What was wrong with her?

“Okay,” she said breathlessly. Blair immediately began forming a plan with every step she took. Fluff the pillow, pull back each blanket individually, blow him a little kiss–only a little kiss!

When she picked up the pillow, Toby tilted his head. “What are you doing?”

“Fluffing–” Shake. “–the–” Shake. “–pillow.” Shake. “So it’s nice and soft.”

“Okay.” He said nothing else until she was covering him with the last blanket. Had she done a good job? She hoped she had. She had to.

“Do you think Roman doesn’t love us anymore?” Toby asked suddenly. Blair’s hands froze, and she almost dropped the blanket.

“What?” she said quietly, more to herself than anything else. “I–”

“Do you think Roman’s…upset that we’re taking all of Mom and Dad’s time and it’s ‘cause we’re not their real kids?” asked Toby.

Blair didn’t even consider the interruption surprising. “Roman’s not their real kid any more than we are.” It came out barely a whisper. She didn’t like that. “I’m sure we’ll be…” What word to use? “Adequate.”

“He kind of is.” Yes, she had used the wrong word. Toby turned to look at her. “They’ve been his parents for… five, ten, fifteen… lots of years.”

Why did he have to make so many good points? Blair dusted her hands off on her jacket. “Fifteen, remember? One ten, five ones.” Focus on what came naturally. “You’re right. I’m sure he loves us. I’m sure he’s just busy.” Even as she said the words, she could feel them slipping away from her, the product of too many foster homes and loneliness and everything always being wrong, wrong, wrong!

“Really?” Toby would… probably get it, anyway.

No, that was a stupid decision. She couldn’t take it out on him. This was her job.

“Toby Browning.” She stood up. She had to keep herself from shaking. “It’s not your fault. I promise.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes.” She bent down to brush a lock of hair away from his face. If it’s anyone’s fault, it’s mine, she thought. “Sweet dreams.”

As soon as she’d made it out the door, she dropped to her knees and pressed her arm to her face. Her jacket came away wet. It was her fault. She paid too much attention to Roman, and now he hated them all.

Wrong. Roman was not that kind of person. No, she hadn’t paid enough attention, and that was why he left them. Yes, that was more than likely.

She’d failed. She’d failed not only herself, but Toby, Missy, Parker. Nichole and T–Mom and Da–What was she supposed to call them? Nothing sounded right. She’d failed them, too. Roman, in a sense. Magenta, if she wanted to stretch it.

She’d failed all her siblings, one way or another. It didn’t matter. She had to move on. This couldn’t happen again.


	2. you think that i hate you now (but you still don't know what i never said)

“What is it?” Melanie was having a nice day. Art first period, then study hall. It was even a girl day! Then, this…person had dragged her into a side hallway after lunch. That wasn’t very nice. Oh, was it about the cheerleading application? (It probably wasn’t.)

“I don’t want your help.” The person in front of her had their hat tilted down just enough so she couldn’t see their face.

“Then don’t take it!” She shrugged.

“Oh, I don’t speak in lies,” they answered. Well, this was going to make this conversation much harder.

“Look, sir…” When they made no move to correct her, she nodded. “I can’t help you right now. Sorry.” She really meant it, too. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to help him. It was that this might’ve been a bad idea. (Okay, maybe Connie had been rubbing off on her.)

“I don’t need your help,” he insisted.

“I’m sorry! I’m very busy right now. Maybe later.”

“Fine.” She turned to leave, but he called back, “I’m sure your friend Connie would like her little secret spread across the school.”

She spun around slowly and deliberately. “I’m sorry, you know what about Connie Carswell?” Melanie quirked her brow.

“Not a lot of things. The point is, if you help me, I will accidentally spill something about both her and you.” The boy smirked at her from underneath his bowler hat. Melanie was not usually a very spiteful person, but he was changing her mind about him with every second she stared at–well, what was visible of his face anyway.

“Really. You’ll use the trans thing as blackmail. Wow. Come on, I’m just so proud of you.” She clapped in the most technical sense. “Why aren’t you clapping? See, you deserve it, because you’re so much better.” She punctuated every word with a clap. Okay, maybe this was why she was never a cheerleader.

“You’re trans.” It came out somewhere between a statement and a question. Melanie took a single step backwards. “I won’t have to write that down.” He started laughing.

“If you didn’t know, what was this about?” She fought to keep her hands at her sides.

“It does matter. Believe me, I would be doing this if I didn’t think you’d done something wrong.”

Melanie took a moment to decipher this statement. What had she done wrong? More importantly…

“What did Connie do? Or is she just collateral?”

“Nothing. She wasn’t a bystander.”

“That’s ridiculous!” She stomped her foot. “Are you going to make everyone pay?”

“If I don’t have to. But I want to. Only the best people.” The best–wait, did he mean the worst?“

“Fine. What do I have to do?” She wasn’t the worst. Probably. That was a relief.

The boy took off his bowler hat, but kept his face tilted away from her. He had a mop of brown hair, just messy enough to block his face. He plucked a single piece of paper from inside the hat and handed it to her. She had to keep from crumpling it.

“Don’t show up here at 9 p.m. tomorrow. You won’t get instructions there.”

Melanie was on edge. This wouldn’t affect her, as long as she wasn’t hurt. It’d be just a quick rendezvous and then she’d be fine. Just fine. She giggled and nodded.

“Of course!”

“Terrible.” He smiled at her again as he replaced the hat. She was not seconds away from punching him in his stupid hidden face. (Shoot, he was rubbing off on her.) “This always happened, Miss McCallister. Unless, of course, you wouldn’t like to be called something else?”

Melanie had no idea if this was sarcasm, an opposite, or something else, but she decided to play it safe. “No, Miss McCallister is good for now.” She fought to keep her tone light. “Bye then!”

As soon as she turned the corner, she muttered, “I hate that guy. Should probably stop him from doing that. Yeah, that is nice. On my to do list.”

A pair of yellow eyes watched her every move.


	3. on a wednesday (in a cafe)

It was raining the next day. Melanie wondered if he’d predicted it somehow. If that was why he chose to meet up when he did.

She It was they, today. They knew that.

They unrolled their white socks. It was impossibly wet here, and the umbrella didn’t help against the puddles.

The address was, in fact, a Starbucks. Melanie liked Starbucks (but not as much as Izzy, since that was impossible), but they were pretty sure this didn’t fit with his aesthetic. So why was he doing this? And, more importantly, what did he expect to do?

They shut their umbrella messily and shook out their pigtails. 

He was sitting at a table by the door, looking at them disapprovingly (disapprovingly?) even though they weren’t late at all. They nodded at him.

His cup was covered in black paper, so they couldn’t see what was in it, but he just nodded back and took a slow, deliberate drink like he knew what he was doing. Melanie laughed at the thought and leaned their umbrella next to the chair across from him, then joined the line.

“Where aren’t you going?” Yeah, they had the right person.

“To buy something so I don’t get kicked out, of course!”

The barista only paused to rub at what they guessed was extremely messy eyeliner (or possibly eyeshadow) as they rattled off their order. Then again, this was what Starbucks was famous for. Why did they expect anything else? That was silly. Their drink was bright red, with enough sugar to send a Care Bear running. No, wait, that was impossible. But still, precisely the reason they adored Starbucks.

His hat was still tipped over his face, and it made Melanie irrationally mad. Why was he doing this?

“You had to order that.”

“Hey, that’s the whole point!” Melanie felt defensive. Okay, maybe they were slightly overweight, but perfectly healthy! They seated themselves in the chair next to their umbrella and chose not to press the issue. They had more things to worry about. “So. Spill. No, wait. First things first.” Their eyes glinted. “What’s your name? Or at the very least, what should I call you?”

“Well, Miss McCallister.” He hissed the “s” in “McCallister” for some reason, and Melanie wanted to say that they weren’t Miss, not today. He interrupted them with a look. “Not Miss, then.” Wait, had that been a lie? “You certainly can’t refer to me as the liar or the snake.”

“Maybe I won’t,” they replied. “Maybe I should call you something else, then.”

He laughed. They’d…pleased him. Probably. “Dolos.”

“I know it’s not going to be that easy.” They took another sip. “But Dolos it is.”

“Your instructions aren’t to stand on–” Dolos told them an address they didn’t recognize. “– and wait until someone asks for Butterfingers. Then give them this.” He produced another object from his hat, a plastic box filled with metal parts. Melanie let it drop on the table.

“And then?” They sipped their drink again and briefly considered adding water to wash their mouth out.

“You’re not done.”

“It’s that easy.” Melanie giggled. Honestly, it sounded like an ad.

“It’s that hard,” he…well, seemed to confirm anyway.

“Why do you even call yourself Dolos, of all things? It’s not remotely heroic.” They were going to provoke him, most definitely.

“Names are a societal construct. They’re nearly lies.” Melanie had no idea what this had to do with anything, but they thought it was at least true. Then why did he lie? (To annoy the hell out of whoever he was blackmailing? Probably.)

“Why lies, then?”

“I can tell you everything, my dear McCallister.” That was a lie. Right?

“Of course you can!” Playing dumb? Sure. They leaned in close, resting one arm on the box, the other elbow on it, and swung their legs. “Spill!” They nudged their hand towards his coffee cup.

“I most certainly have to remind you that a rule made in the name of a lie is worse than none.” Dolos smirked again.

“Of course not.” Melanie rolled their eyes. “Any rules are better than none. Well, most rules. Not that most rules are like that anyway. Seriously, don’t lose your head over it, if you even have one.”

He looked mildly offended at their last joke, but they weren’t sure why. “So you admit society is just an abstract concept?” There he went, twisting their words again. They chose to ignore it.

“Society is a concept, yes. I’m not saying I disagree. But that concept has consequences. And you have to face them sooner or later. You can’t expect to get away with this!” They laughed.

“Why not?” Dolos copied their pose, elbows on the table, hands under chin. It looked creepier when he did it. Melanie was pretty sure the table was some measure of sticky, but they didn’t point it out.

“I think you know.” He was probably expecting them to give a cliche hero response. But they weren’t that type of person. “That would be a fine preposition, if you wanted me to help you out down the line.”

They pocketed the box and picked up the umbrella, ignoring the way the raindrops soaked into their skin that reminded them of the fact that they weren’t real. They were just a stupid girl.

Melanie clutched the coffee so hard the cup popped a little. Swinging the umbrella over their shoulder, they waved cheerily back. As they reached the door, they called out.

“If you really want to hide your identity, use sunglasses!”

They exited before anyone really had a chance to look at them. This was good. Did it have consequences? Yes. Were they willing to accept them? Absolutely. Were either of them anywhere as good as they made themselves out to be? Probably not.

Was Melanie going to try their hardest? Hell yes.

—

Ethan groaned. Melanie really didn’t know about the Dreamer. Could she they deal with both of them? He’d like to see them try.

—

He sat in the back corner, sipping his sixth green tea in two hours. This would be interesting. Another girl showing up to cause drama. With a pink umbrella, too.

His phone chimed with another text.

april may june: you are so fake


	4. say my name (and everything just stops)

New message from: remy nightingale **  
**

remy nightingale: gurl

Today at 3:12p.m.

remy nightingale: Are you ok???

Today at 4:37p.m.

april may june: yeah im fine

april may june: calm your coffee

april may june: or whatever

remy nightingale: Oh hun

remy nightingale: First i drink tea everyone knows that

remy nightingale: second gimme the deets

april may june: idfc

april may june: theres nothing to tell

april may june: sci project

april may june: partner hates my guts

april may june: the usual

remy nightingale: Oooooooooooooooooooooh

remy nightingale: Who?

april may june: i thought we said no personal shit

remy nightingale: You’ve seen me without makeup

remy nightingale: without makeup!!!

remy nightingale: 💄💄💄💄💄💄💄💄💄💄💄💄💄💄💄💄💄

april may june: ugh

april may june: fine

april may june: point taken

april may june: you dont even know him

remy nightingale: When has that ever stopped me?

april may june: his name’s virgil

remy nightingale: Virgil.

april may june: yeah?

remy nightingale: His parents are hopeless

april may june: i guess

april may june: never thought abt it really

april may june: couldnt think anyway

april may june: you know how ppl dont like me?

april may june: virgil doesnt like me either

april may june: idk he just has a very

april may june: “i will stab you and feel nothing about it"

april may june: vibe

april may june: right?

remy nightingale: Oh i hear you bitch

april may june:

  


[Originally posted by boonboonpow](http://tmblr.co/ZxCcFtdvBpVA)

april may june: *you

april may june: you don’t even go here

april may june: you are so fake okay?

remy nightingale: So are you hun

april may june: hey i know

april may june: and i am not gonna leave your dumb ass

remy nightingale: How DARE you

remy nightingale: My ass is smokin hot

april may june: oh you

know you love me

remy nightingale: You had to say it?

april may june: uh f yes


	5. Chapter 5

Virgil climbed up the fire escape. Someone was walking around on the roof.

This was one of the drawbacks of enhanced senses. It wasn’t an anxiety symptom if someone was out to get you, was it? He was just glad living on the top floor gave him an excuse (somewhat).

Although it made the sounds worse, so how good could it be?

A figure with a ponytail was pacing on the roof. The person was turned away from him, so their face wasn’t visible. He reached the top of the stairs at the same time they turned around.

“Connie?”

“Virgil!” She brushed a lock of hair from her face. “Why are you here?”

“This is my building! Why are you here?”

“My mom’s out tonight. She won’t be home until four.” Connie pulled her phone from her back pocket. She was wearing a dark pair of jeans, darker than Virgil knew she owned. “Two more hours.”

He stared at her. She blinked.

“Okay, that’s not why I’m here. We both know that. But I could say the same for you. If I had to guess, boy trouble.”

“I thought someone was here. What was I supposed to do?” He gestured down at himself. “I don’t sleep. You do.”

“Okay. Right.” She looked down, and Virgil noticed that she was wearing boots instead of her usual Converse. She did sound unfamiliar. “Did I say that out loud?“

"Yeah, you did.” You always did, he thought. But the back-and-forth came nearly as naturally as it did with Patton.

“Okay. You’re sure it’s not boy trouble? With… what’s the name, that goth… Ellen?”

“Somebody’s been watching too many daytime talk shows.”

“I’m a basic white girl. It’s my job.” Connie stepped over to a raised block on the building. She gave a soft giggle.

Virgil could find no fault with that argument.

“What’s so funny?” he asked, walking over to her. She sat down instinctively.

“Nothing. Just remembering.” She bit her lip as her eyes darted around. “I was seven and you were nine. Superheroes were all the rage back then. Do you remember?”

Of course he did. How couldn’t he? “Yeah.”

“I, of course, being the kid that I was, did public service. I had these neon blue cat ears and jacket that I–” She interrupted herself with another laugh. “Neon blue. I thought it was…the best thing.”

She leaned back and clutched the hem of her jacket. “And I ran around the house pushing chairs in and such. Er, stuff. Junie was in college back then. No, but she was on break.” Her voice was rising steadily. “She told me I had to go find someone else. So I got you a purple pair and a hoodie. We ran around the city.”

“No, y–never mind.” Virgil waved her off.

“Right, I ran around the city, and you were…just kind of there.”

“Not anymore,” Virgil muttered more loudly than he’d intended.

“What?” She barely moved when saying that. But then, that was Connie.

“Nothing.”

“Okay, then.” She shook her head. “The world’s really different from how I thought it was, isn’t it?”

“It’s still worth saving.”

“Okay.”

He took a hesitant step backwards, then a smaller one forward.

Connie stared blankly at him. “Why don’t you want to do this?”

“You don’t remember.” Virgil wanted to laugh.

“And you do?” Her comment was more offhand than anything else.

“I remember mistakes I made in kindergarten. Of course I remember the last time you woke me up this late to tell me something.”

“Then… you should understand it’s my fault. And I’m sorry.”

“It’s not like we weren’t over. We’re probably better like this.”

“Okay.” Connie made another noise in the back of her throat. “But we were friends, back then. What happened?”

“Melanie and Izzy.”

“No, it was after that,” said Connie. “High school. You were fourteen and I wasn’t.”

“Wasn’t it?”

“For me, it was. Also, I want to dye my hair blue. Not the whole thing, just streaks.”

“Little bit late to go through your goth phase now.”

“Why? You’re still in it.” She laughed. He didn’t.

“Okay, maybe that was a bit rude.” Connie jumped up and started pacing.

“You won’t do it.”

“I know, I know.”

She pulled out her phone. Virgil noted she had a galaxy phone case. It made him think of someone.

“Melanie almost punched me in the face today,” she continued, staring at her phone while pacing. “Just walked up behind her, and she turned around. I had to duck. Who did she think I was? Delirium?”

Someone who wasn’t thinking of him.

“Don’t joke about Delirium,” was what came out instead. Patton. He was honestly surprised it ended there. Nothing else would come out.

Just like with Patton.

“You joked about your problems all the time. Do you still do that?” Connie stopped pacing.

“Yeah, but it’s different. You never did.”

“I know.” She started back up again. “Do you really think Delirium’s a hoax?”

“No.” Once again, it ended there. He flexed each of his fingers experimentally.

“Really? You seem like the conspiracy theorist type.” Connie giggled, short and bubbly. Way too bubbly.

Probably fake.

“I am. Just not about this.”

“Okay.” Connie stopped again and started tapping at her phone. “Whatever happened to superheroes?”

“What do you mean?” Virgil stared at her flatly.

“You know what I mean.” She gave him a look. “Same thing that caused the Virgilante–Vigilante, sorry.”

“That?” Virgil moved toward the fire escape. “I don’t know.”

“I don’t know either.” She started typing again.

“What are you even doing?” He could probably see over her shoulder, but he wanted to know what she’d say.

“Texting Junie to come pick me up.”

“What does a college teacher want at 2 a.m.?” Yes, Virgil, all the right questions.

“You’d be surprised.” The phone chimed in a very satisfying way. “Must be her.”

She stopped sharply on her way to the fire escape. “This didn’t happen.”

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, this is part of a superhero AU. It just doesn't seem that way here.  
> Not that Roman is a hero, anyway.  
> Find me on Tumblr @the-parentheticals.


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